


Visibly Mended

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Banter, Cuddling, Holding Hands, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bandaging a loved one, field medicine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24264157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: When Finn gets shot in a melee, Poe has to get him cleaned up and sutured.
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Finn
Comments: 13
Kudos: 97
Collections: Fluffy as a Cloud Flash Exchange





	Visibly Mended

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inquisitor_tohru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/gifts).



The good news is that the band of marauders won't be tormenting this tiny mountain settlement and its access road any longer. The bad news: before the fighting was done, someone got off a blaster shot right into Finn's shoulder. 

Most of the settlement is busy putting out spot fires and checking on their livestock. Outside the communal longhouse, Poe and BB-8 argued passionately about whether they should risk moving Finn, but Finn told them to shut up and fix him. Accordingly, they've gotten Finn propped up against BB-8, with one of his extendable arrays under Finn's armpit and a vitals monitor clamped to Finn's forehead. Before Finn passed out, he managed to cut his shirt off so the wound could be cleaned. 

Now, however, he needs to wake up.

"Hey," Poe says, then again, more firmly, as he squeezes Finn's hand. " _Hey_."

Finn's eyelids flutter and twitch before he manages to shake himself awake. "Hey."

"Stay with me, all right?"

When Finn smiles, it's effortful, a ghost of his usual grin. "Not going anywhere, don't worry."

Crouching over Finn's leg, Poe adjusts his position so he's not about to topple face-first onto the patient. "Keep making jokes," he tells Finn. "That's good. Crack wise, maybe needle me a bit?"

"Someone's getting needled," Finn begins to say, gaze locked on the med-kit that Poe has open beside them. He trails off. 

"Yeah, man. _You_. Weird how rushing into the fray on unfamiliar terrain with an unknown number of hostiles, armed only with a janky DIY lightsaber and your enormous beautiful brave heart can get you this banged up." Poe's hands are shaking as he gets out the suture supplies. He's cold, too, and his head pounds, as if all the shots and shouts from earlier were still echoing inside the vault of his skull.

"Technically all lightsabers are DIY," Finn points out. Focusing on the little things should help him get through this, if Poe's any guide. Poe's entire approach to stress and conflict, after all, is to mouth off and hope for the best and just _keep talking_. 

Maybe that's why they've always worked so well together.

"Yeah, but do all lightsabers spit freaky kyber grit when they run too hot?" Poe squints as he threads steri-floss through the needle's eye. He hands the needle to Finn. "Hold this, will you?"

"No," Finn says. Poe looks at him sharply. "No, most lightsabers don't do that. Yes, I'll hold it. What are you doing?"

"Just keep talking," Poe tells him. He twists away, fumbling with the kit. 

Finn moves the needle in the air like the tiniest lightsaber. It catches the light from the fire, then seems to narrow as he turns it, before swooping down and shining again. BB-8 beeps at him chidingly.

"Hey," Poe says and shakes him by the knee. "What did I say? Keep —"

"— talking, yeah," Finn replies. He exhales. "What do you want me to say?"

Poe squirts gel from a metal tube onto his fingertips, then slathers it around Finn's wound. 

His touch is frigid at first, then flaming-hot, _agonizing_. Flames burrow into Finn's flesh, then contract. 

"Motherfucker!" Finn shouts and nearly drops the needle. Chirping another admonition, BB-8 shoots out a magnet grip to retrieve the needle. 

Poe has gone still, face stricken. "Sorry. Had to be done."

Finn struggles to get his breathing back under control; he's panting, sweat prickling out all over his face and down his chest. His free hand flexes and spasms. He'd honestly rather get shot again.

"Man, I'm really sorry, I had to —" Poe tries again.

"It's all right. It's all right. It's..." Finn stops and presses his lips together. He needs to join the pain, not fight it; accept it, move with it, and, eventually, he will pass _through_ it. He knows that from his Force-training as well as from the rehab holos he watched after Starkiller. A tight, sour knot in his chest, however, resists all that good advice. He _hurts_ and it makes him angry and scared. He exhales again. "It's all right."

Frowning, eyes dark and intent, Poe shakes his head. "You really are the worst liar, you know that?"

"I'm not that bad!"

"You're terrible," Poe declares. "Just the worst. You can't even lie convincingly about being a good liar."

"I've met worse," Finn says. He has to close his eyes when Poe gets in close and starts pinching the wound together. "I'm sure I've met worse."

Where the gel had burned, that whole area now feels thick and numb. He's aware of _having flesh_ in that general vicinity, but he can't seem to access what it feels like. He opens his eyes to check, but all he sees is Poe's bent head. That's probably for the best. Finn can take the sight of a lot of terrible things, but sutures are in their own category.

Poe's messy waves of hair, threaded with occasional silver, shift as he repositions himself. He checks BB-8, but there's no worrying change in Finn's vitals. The situation is just messy now, no longer life-threatening.

Messy, they can handle. Messy is status quo.

"You're too quiet," he tells Finn but doesn't look up. He has a rhythm now, drawing the floss through, then smearing bacta-adhesive atop each stitch before moving on to the next. "Keep talking."

"Dunno what to say," Finn admits. "I'm tired. Can't believe that Felucian got the drop on me. Pissed."

He's speaking each thought as it wafts through his mind. They're all true, but he doesn't quite feel connected to any of them emotionally.

"You were dealing with a pretty rabid Zabrak," Poe reminds him. "That'd distract anyone."

Finn sighs. "Not me. I shouldn't —"

When the stitches are finished, Poe sits back on his heels, holding the needle and floss away from Finn. "Beebs, do the honors?"

BB-8 snips the floss before releasing a small puff of diluted spice steam over Finn's face. When he warbles, _good job, Finn_ , Poe grins at them both.

"What's so funny?" Finn asks thickly. The spice is making pretty sketches of flowers wheel gently across his vision. "Why're you laughing at me?"

"Not laughing." Poe settles next to Finn, careful not to jostle him, and takes Finn's good hand. Laughter still burbles up, despite how exhausted he is. "Just relieved."

Finn's thumb strokes Poe's. He's fighting to stay awake, strain evident in his face, his rapid blinks. "We made it."

"That we did." Shirt-cuff tugged over his hand, Poe gently dabs off the sweat on Finn's cheek. "Live to fight another day, right?"

They're so exhausted that old clichés are reacquiring some meaning, becoming adequate shorthand for how they actually feel.

"Just a little more bashed up," Finn says.

"Mended," Poe suggests and, with a long, sleepy sigh, Finn tilts against him to rest his head against Poe's shoulder. BB-8 eases out of the way so Poe can slip his arm around Finn's waist and hold him. "A little more _mended_."

"Sure," Finn mumbles, smiling even though he can't keep his eyes open any longer. "Your stitching skills are legendary, after all."

Poe lifts their joined hands to his mouth and kisses Finn's knuckles gently. When he's done, he tips his cheek against the crown of Finn's skull and lets his eyes drift closed. BB-8 will let them know when the transport arrives.

"Thank you," Poe murmurs. "You're too good to me."

"Mutual," Finn whispers hoarsely.

Can't argue with that.


End file.
